


you wanna know the truth about how i’m doing ( i really don’t think i’ll make it )

by machetechampion



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Kendall Gets Therapy (kinda), Memories, Pre-Canon, Rehab, but its kendall so i guess you knew that, cw for drugs, happy ending but its pre canon so really honestly you get nothing, not actually relapse bc this was before his sobriety, trauma???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machetechampion/pseuds/machetechampion
Summary: "the dismissive hand wave is calculated- he's been reading. he wonders about the legality of rehab investment. he knows- but it's easier to focus on than a blackness starting to seep into his vision.he lied, but that's the easy part."
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	you wanna know the truth about how i’m doing ( i really don’t think i’ll make it )

**Author's Note:**

> fun little pre-canon kendall fic set whence he is in rehab . there's a thing in this fic that if you get the reference your brain is massive. ( also this fic isnt fun. at all. )
> 
> a lot of this was vent writing but i liked it more than i expected to. enjoy or like process or something. i dont know
> 
> u can hmu on @ratmiddleman (twitter) for fic ideas!

"tell me about your rock bottom."

he hasn't laughed since he got here, but boy, if he could. "rock bottom"? he has to pick? is there not a steady grinding into gravel that comes with breaking down constantly under the thumb under your king of a father? skidding against concrete while you constantly build up a nothing, nothing, nothing name for yourself? do hollow eyes and trembling fists at meeting after meeting count? incessant tapping you can't control, the sniffs from allergies that make everyone snap their head around, has this not all been rock bottom?

he has one. 

"i don't remember- it's hard to remember a lot of that. drug blur."

the dismissive hand wave is calculated- he's been reading. he wonders about the legality of rehab investment. he knows- but it's easier to focus on than a blackness starting to seep into his vision. 

he lied, but that's the easy part. 

the therapist is looking at him. she's trying to break a shell that's been carefully curated since birth. it's a miracle he ended up here, but kendall roy gets up after he trips and already has a new suit on. not getting this one. 

so she sighs. closes her notebook. the fist pump of success kendall is doing in his head makes him think about roman. he's going to put a hard pause on celebrating the win. he has to pretend he cares. 

"kendall, i'll believe you don't remember."

that's all he needs to hear. 

"i won't believe these memories are gone."

okay, hush. 

"kendall, you're in there. you've never not been kendall. nothing made you anything less. not the drugs, not your father-"

the wince is going to be on his mind for 30 years. 

"sorry, i know. but my point stands. kendall roy lived every moment of every life you're compartmentalizing. you can access all of it. it's going to hurt, but its going to be worth it. let it be there. i'll see you after the weekend, yes?"

curt nod stand up exit stage left. easy peasy. the 20 second walk to his room feels like years. he got a private room of COURSE he did and he's so thankful for being able to melt into a mattress with no one able to look at the 12-year-old-girl-got-dumped vibes of how his face is buried in his pillow. 

it matters that no one's here, because he isnt either. 

he isn't sure how he got here, then or now. he doesnt feel at place in the apartment. it's other side of town, logan-roy-scoff-approved side. it's far away and that's all he needs but it's not the right far. 

he's always been kendall roy. this has always been an acknowledged mistake. 

but his shell is paper thin and all he needs is something that isnt roy-adjacent. so in this moment its fine to be overdressed and underbuttoned, strangers are fine, if they don't recognize him, it's better. 

( "television is bad for the eyes. the waves fry your retinas." )

( he doesn't care about facts. he'll agree. it's easy. )

no one would approve. he can't imagine a world where they would-  _ he _ doesn't. no one would offer a heartbeat of sympathy if they looked through his eyes, perceived the messy table, spoons and lighters strewn, small baggies glistening from being licked clean, kendall's too frozen to be disgusted himself. in a way, the faint  _ ch-ftt _ of a bic engaging feels real. in this moment, he feels like this has been designated to him since birth. 

if he hadn't had the birth certificate shoved in his face every time he so much as missed a homework assignment, if  _ you're a roy, fucking act like one!  _ didn't feel like a mantra. it sings in his head every moment. 

but not now. 

now the spoon of warm substances is enough. he'd change his name to kendall benzoylmethylecgonine if that had any sort of ring to it. it doesn't, so he won't. kendall rock sounds like a bad pornstar. 

he's a roy. he can destroy the name. that might be even more fulfilling than logan going senile and handing him the company. 

there's a lot to unpack there, but kendall is ice and whoever's reaching for the slim glass is beat himself. there's no time to focus on larger concepts of corporate or familial destruction when kendall raw is already lighting up and kendall roy cant even move when his internal clock knows it's dinnertime. why bother eating? he didn't need to then. why does he now? 

he knows in the moment it wasn't rock bottom. he knows it took 8 seconds for this to be the best moment of his life, 8 seconds to have a grin on his face and feel like he could punch god once and win. god's not so tough, right? god's a 66-year-old man who can't think right most of the time, right? god's just some dumbass with too many kids and no desire to care for them. 

does it count as agnosticism if you make a point to refute god with every bone in your body? if you know god intimately, are you allowed to deny his existence? 

these are kendall roy thoughts. is this what kendall roy is doing because he has always been kendall. he knows this now. ms. melfi reminds him of this for 3 hours every day. he has to.

he’s not sure if the bell that rings is a reminder that he’s scared or because he’s getting paged for dinner- he hasn’t remembered how long time works for a while now, but it can’t be dinner yet, right? how long was he out?

the halls are empty when he exits his room- so it’s not dinner. did he dream it? he doesn’t take gabapentin this late. he roams the halls, towards melfi’s office- it feels like a safe space.

( he never goes in there besides therapy hour. but it’s there, and it’s a room where no one will call him a fucking disaster of a failure and she speaks softly and he feels better there. so it’s safe. )

( he doesn’t remember how you’re supposed to treat safe spaces. )

every step feels hollow because he’s reeling from remembering. he hates remembering, he hates knowing he is what he is. he hates being a failure, hates staring truth in the face. 

melfi’s door is open.

he almost stutters in his walk, because he was really about to say something to her. the theoretical is always easier, huh, ken? now that he’s in eyesight of her door, he doesn’t want to. she’ll yell. she’ll kick him out. she’ll be excommunicated from royco rehab. forever.

a breath.

( rehabs don’t privatize like that. )

the therapist notices him, probably hears how his shoes squeak on the floor. she gestures him in, and kendall wonders if she notices that the way he straightens his hoodie is exactly how he approaches board meetings. she doesn’t, right? that’s a detail he doesn’t mention. but he walks in nonetheless, stands to assert himself. he’s tough, he’s in control. melfi looks at him like she understands his motives, but drop the ego, ken, you’re in cocaine recovery.

“you haven’t said a lot, kendall. but you made it.”

“what…? i was told i had another month or so on my plan? i was hoping to, uh-”

“you don’t have to go.”

the gold coin she extends to him feels like a doubloon. he feels like a pirate that’s stumbled on the greatest treasure on earth, buried at the bottom of the sea, but no men died for this one.

_ to thine own self be true. _

“i’ve requested you be offered an additional two weeks after your next month. 90 days is a common cutoff, but i keep up with the news for you, and there’s some dust i think you’ll be safer with it settled.”

kendall wonders if hugging your therapist is allowed. he hasn’t been allowed live tv ( that was his own request after detox ) and yet, she kept up.

she knew he needed stability in what was becoming the world’s world, not just his own.

he does not hug his therapist, because he doesn’t want to show vulnerability in that way.

instead, he sits.   
  


“i think it was 4 months before i was admitted.”

melfi doesn’t take notes. 

kendall talks. 

it’s finally getting okay.

( maybe. )


End file.
